


Nobody But Us

by SaikouManiac



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Discrimination, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Light Angst, Period-Typical Racism, Racism, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-01-06 01:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12200946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaikouManiac/pseuds/SaikouManiac
Summary: "I'm just trying to help!""Well we don't need help from the likes of your kind here!"Her throat clenched and her nostrils flared with anger. Her eyes burned with tears that threatened to spill over, but she didn't let him see her pain. She didn't want it to bother her; she'd heard things like this often enough, but she knew.No one wants you around if you look like the enemy.----A Japanese adoptee just wants to help those around her, but faces discrimination and racism, simply because she's in the wrong place at the wrong time. She wants to give up, but one pilot believes in her, and he's willing to stake his reputation when he wants to publicly love her.----This story deals with the racism and discrimination of Japanese people in the UK during WW2 times. No racial slurs are used here.Shout out to lowdenfordays on Tumblr for helping me with vernacular and history!Spotify play list ---> https://open.spotify.com/user/saikoumaniac/playlist/2J39oyVe0kIcqAPjN9p5GE





	1. Chapter 1

               Weymouth was buzzing today. Men, boys, and even women were running back and forth from docks to homes, removing personal effects and loading piles of life jackets; they were prepping their boats for the Royal Navy to take across to Dunkirk. Some were excited to help their country; the men in France needed them, and they were going to do whatever it took to help. Others were less than pleased. One man, grumpily carrying an armful of life jackets, complained loudly about how those damned soldiers had better not scuff up his baby, earning him a resounding slap from his tough-looking wife, and a chiding remark of, “Think of your countrymen!” A tense looking man dressed in an officer’s uniform with a clipboard in hand was walking along the port, checking names and giving instructions before moving on to the next civilian vessel.

               All along the streets, people were bustling as well. Many women were running from store to store, picking up ingredients and drinks to prepare for the mass homecoming of soldiers. Silvia was one of them. She carried two armfuls of bags bursting with food. Occasionally, she’d bump shoulders with a stranger, who would glare down at her when she apologized, but otherwise was unbothered as she made her way back.

               She ran the rest of the way home with the last burst of strength she had, a hard feat to accomplish while carrying heavy bags in both arms with a dress that got tangled between the legs. Inside, her mother, Evelyn, was still in the kitchen, prepping sandwiches. As Silvia placed the groceries down and started to unpack the sacks, a knock came at the door. Arthur, her father, came from the sitting room to answer it.

               “Oh, hello William, what can I do for you?” he said.

               “Arthur, morning, I was hoping I could ask a favour of you.”

               Arthur agreed and invited him inside. Silvia turned just in time to see the two men, and a boy, William’s teenage son, walk past the kitchen door, back into the sitting room.

               “Darling, why don’t you go see if they’d like some tea,” Evelyn addressed a moment later, not looking up from the sandwich in her hands. With a nod, Silvia dusted down her dress and smoothed her hair, making her way to the back of the house. Beyond the door of the sitting room, she could hear her father and William talking.

               “…suppose desperate times call for desperate measures that they’d need to call for civilian ships.” Arthur’s voice; he sounded mildly disturbed.

               “Yes, well, they’ll want her ready within the hour, and I’m afraid David and I won’t be able to strip her on our own in that time. Might you be kind enough to lend a hand?” William asked.

               “Dad, even with Mr. Darrow’s help, I don’t think we’ll have it all switched,” David, the son, offered quietly. “We have to take into consideration the time it’ll take to get back, after all this anyway.”

               “I’m afraid your boy is right, William,” her father mumbled thoughtfully. “The three of us can’t strip a yacht of that size in the remaining time. And you’ll want all of your effects if your boat goes down while crossing, I assume.”

               There was a quick lull of silence, before William spoke up again. “What about your girl? She’s small, but I’ve seen her darting about town with more than her weight in groceries and effects from errands that wife of yours sends her on. She’s no man, but she looks quick, and like a hard worker.” There was more silence. “We just need an extra set of hands, Arthur. She doesn’t need to be a strongman; just someone to move things back and forth.”

               Silvia took this as her cue to come in. She knocked twice on the door before swinging it open. Before even admitting she had been listening in and volunteering herself, her father spoke over her. “Silvia darling, would you care to help us with something?”

 

* * *

 

               The four of them were down by the moorings in no time. William’s vessel, named The Heartbeat, was a respectable size, a pleasure yacht meant for long cruises along the coast for weekends, which meant he had a lot of things to move. By the end of the hour, the officer with the clipboard was marching back down the dock with sailors in tow. Most of the personal items had been moved, and Silvia was just jumping back on board with the last of lifejackets when the man came to them.

               “Mr. Wright, is The Heartbeat ready?” he barked.

               William, who was already on board, rope in hand, stood a bit straighter. “Yes, I’d say so.”

               The officer ordered four sailors on board. “If you could vacate the vessel, that will be all—“

               “Wait,” William spoke up, “if it’s possible, I’d like to volunteer my services and sail across. To help with the evacuation.”

               “I’d like to help as well! I’ll volunteer too!” David exclaimed, jumping up to stand by his dad.

               The man hesitated for a moment, looking down at his clipboard before saying, “…Alright. If you’d like to volunteer, you may, but the girl stays here. You two,” he pointed at two of the sailors already making their way onto the vessel, “you’ll go on the next one.” With men in tow, the officer marched to the luxury cruiser just ahead of them. As the remaining seamen helped to prep the boat for sea travel, Silvia set down the life jackets, looking a disappointed.

               William went to her. “Silvia, thank you for your help, but we can take it from here. You should probably join your father on deck now. We’re about to cast off.”

               “Mr. Wright, I’d… I would like to stay and help too,” Silvia pleaded.

               The older man pursed his lips together. “My dear, I’d love to give you the opportunity. Any citizen who wants to help their countrymen in our time of war is always welcome on my boat—“

               “Even though I’m a girl?” Silvia interrupted.

               “Well you didn’t need to be a man to help me today,” he chuckled. “I’d love to let you stay, Silvia dear, but I don’t think your parents would be too happy about that.”

               “I’m going to be enlisting as a nurse to help in the war front soon! I need to be out there, helping as soon as I can!” she retorted.

               As if overhearing the conversation, Arthur called from the docks, “Silvia darling, get off the boat; they can’t leave while you’re still on it!”

               Head hanging low, Silvia slumped back onto land. She stood there, watching miserably as they went about their business on board. After a few minutes, Silvia swallowed hard and turned to her father. “Dad,” she murmured quietly; best to get it out now before she lost her nerve. “Dad I’d… I’d like to go with Mr. Wright and David.” Arthur looked down at her, stunned. Before he could say anything, she spilled the rest of what she had to say. “I want to go help. They need us over there. A-And you never know, we might pick up injured. You know I’ve been studying healthcare and first aid, and getting ready to enlist, and you never know, they might need someone with my skills—“

               “Silvia.” Arthur’s voice was quiet and firm, enough to make her stop talking immediately. “You’re not going. That’s final.”

               “But Dad—!”

               “That’s. Final. I said.” Arthur didn’t look at her. He kept his eyes trained on William and his boat getting ready to cast off. In the corner of his eye, he could see his daughter was going to protest again, so he told her the thing he knew she didn’t want to hear. “You know that during this time, you’re in more danger because of your… because of how you look. You’ll be safer here, away from any soldiers who could think otherwise of your loyalty to Britain.”

               Silvia bit her lip in anger, tears of hurt rage threatening to spill over. She blinked hard to keep them back and swallowed her choked hiccup of disappointment.

               The blaring horn of the boat made her look up. They were pulling away from the docks. There goes her chance of getting out there to help those in need, of proving that she was more than just… how she looked. She was a citizen of Britain, and she needed to do her duty.

               “Come, Silvia. You can help your mother pack the sandwiches for the soldiers that come back,” Arthur mumbled regretfully, walking away.

               Sandwiches be damned. Silvia clenched her fists in angry determination, and with a running start, jumped the bit of distance of water from dock to boat. She landed hard. Her knees buckled, causing her to roll, her dress flipping over her head; embarrassing. It certainly didn’t help that she was wearing heels either, but she did it. The men on board had stopped what they were doing to stare at her incredulously. One of the two sailors cried, “You know where we’re going?” She couldn’t hear him over the sound of adrenaline rushing in her veins.

               By the time Arthur realized what his daughter had done, the boat was too far out to get her safely back. “Silvia Rose! What do you think you’re doing!?” he yelled, voice thundering all across the pier.

               “My duty, to my country, Father!”

               “Come back, right this instant!”

               “Sorry, Dad! I don’t know how to drive a boat!”

               Behind her, Silvia heard David asking William, “Should we turn back?”

               William was silent for a moment before answering, “No. She’ll be of use. Anyway, we’ve got sons to bring home, and we’ll not have them wait any longer.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took, and is, a lot longer than I expected it to be, but I hope it was worth the wait!
> 
> Another thanks extended to lowdenfordays on Tumblr for helping me with writing the Scottish accent. <3 And happy birthday my dear! I hope your day is amazing!

               They navigated for a few hours, quiet for the most part, save for the lapping of the waves against the side of the boat. Not knowing the first thing about sailing, Silvia sat at the bow of the ship, trying her best to stay out of the way. William remained behind the wheel for the majority of the time, while David and the two Navy sailors went about on deck, pulling ropes and clearing things away. It was quiet, cruising along the Strait; if she didn’t know better, Silvia wouldn’t have suspected the world was at war. Looking on the right, she could see France in the distance. It looked as peaceful as she always imagined it would in normal circumstances. Dotting the waves around them now were other civilian boats, coming out to open waters from nearby British shores. Some of them even had their captains and other men not donned with a naval uniform, while others were populated by only sailors. The Heartbeat and her captain led the armada of yachts by a few kilometers.

               Silvia was lost in thought as they sailed on. She thought about how angry her parents would be that she did this; deliberately disobeying her father, throwing herself into danger (they weren’t too thrilled about her wanting to become a military nurse, but at least that had an official title). If she thought about it too much, she found she’d turn cold with dread. She’d have to face their wrath, eventually.

               “Have some tea.” David snapped Silvia out of her reverie, holding a hot cup out for her to take.

               She wrapped her hands around it and found instant, warm relief for her cold fingers. “Thank you,” she mumbled, her voice cracking from a few hours disuse.

               David sat down in front of her. “How are you feeling? About coming with us?” he asked.

               She shrugged, trying to line up her thoughts. “Nervous, I suppose. We’re going into war, after all.” Silvia sipped the tea, the warm steam wafting over her face as a cool draft nipped at her everything else, causing her to shiver. The ocean currents were especially chilly today, never mind it being the middle of summer.

               David stood and draped his thin cardigan over her shoulders; it was still warm from him. “Here. Can’t have you catching a cold, now can we? I wouldn’t be near as useful in first aid as you, should we need it.” He smiled at her. The young man was four years her junior, but he was half a head taller and simply charming.

               One of the sailors stepped forward onto the bow at that moment. “There it is,” he murmured, looking ahead.

               Both David and Silvia whipped their heads towards the front. There was Dunkirk; they were close enough that they could see the beaches. There were dark lines raking the bleak yellow sand. It was the soldiers who were marooned there. They were all jumping and waving, having seen the ragtag group of pleasure yachts and personal vessels come to fetch them.

               William’s boat came as close to shore as he could manage. Men were already swimming out to greet them. Silvia, David, and the two sailors began throwing out ropes, life rings, nets, anything to help them climb aboard. By the handful, they flopped on deck, drenched from ocean water and tears of happiness. When things were getting a bit too crowded, Silvia took it upon herself to direct everyone below. Many of them were too busy finding their footing to pay her any mind, but one older man stopped his cheering as he looked her directly in the eye. His smile dropped, and he stared at her. The look in his eyes spoke of cautious suspicion, or defense, or both; it was hard to tell.

               He never said a word to her, his doubt and attentiveness spoke for him. She had seen that look before; it had grown into something much more hurtful than piteous glances. When she was a child in a new and strange place, it told her that she was a curious, exotic oddity, but she had no true place in Britain. When Japan sided with the Germans, that look was tinged a shade darker, a shade of caution, and nationalist defense. The air between the two was thick. Eventually, David came and pushed the soldier along, shooing him, and his stares, down the steps into the cabin below.

               David led the young woman away as soaked men continued past them. “Are you alright?” he asked, pulling his sweater tighter around her shoulders. He’d known her and her family long enough to know what all that was about.

               Silvia’s throat clenched tightly; her heart hurt. After several deep breaths and with a brave facade, she swallowed thickly before saying in a shaky voice, “I-I’m fine. It’s nothing.” In an attempt to save face in front of him, she stepped away and continued directing men below deck, her voice thin over the crowd of quiet men eyeing her.

               The Heartbeat left the shores of Dunkirk only an hour ago, filled to the brim with wet men in uniform. None of the men spoke to, or even stood by Silvia. If she came round, they’d turn away; she knew that being ignored was better than a confrontation, but it somehow made her feel even worse. A small number of men even gave her dirty looks and refused the tea she offered in a way that sounded like she’d poisoned them in the name of the enemy! Silvia tried to make the excuse that these men were soldiers, and Japan, the land of her birth, from which Arthur and Evelyn had adopted her, had sided with Nazi Germany, therefore, it was only in their military instinct to be wary of those distinctively similar to the enemy. It was a hard thing to convincer herself of.

               After a while, she gave up and found herself by the railing on the side, lying on her stomach, fingertips dipped in the water as they motored along. Occasionally, David would stop by to see how she was doing, but she’d lie and flash him a small smile in reassurance. He didn’t seem to know what to do about her; it was clear she was only lying for his sake, so he simply left her alone. She didn’t even want to think about what that soldier could have said to her, but she didn’t have to. The rising murmurs of men drew her attention from wallowing.

               “There, what’s that?”

               “…A destroyer.”

               “One of ours?”

               “Looks like it. Maybe it’s going back for the others.”

               “If it is, hopefully it won’t be b—“

               Like a jinx summoned, there was a low grumbling that rumbled like thunder over all of their voices. In the distance, a huge Heinkel was heading their way, like a huge monstrous bat in the afternoon sky; it had the destroyer in its sights.

               “Oh shit… Jerries!”

               “They’re going to bomb us!”

               “We have to get out of here!”

               Voices began to rise in panic and urgency, overlapping, screaming, but David shouted over them all. “Dad, what’re we gonna do?!”

               Through the glass, William looked extremely disturbed, eyes wide and brows furrowed together. He seemed to hesitate, but after a moment, he answered resolutely, “They’re not after us, it’s the destroyer they’re after! There’ll be men who will need to get away and we’ve got to get as close as we can.” He reached down and pushed the throttle forward, urging his yacht to speed up.

* * *

              

               It all happened so fast; the Heinkel dropping several bombs down on the destroyer, the lone RAF Spitfire, that seemed to appear out of nowhere, thrashing the enemy engines and pulling away higher into the sky, the crash of the huge plane into the water and setting the spilled oil alight. Silvia was helping pull as many men as she could out of the water by now. The Heartbeat was at a safe distance that it wouldn’t be caught by the flames, but close enough that survivors could swim to. They were all covered in black grease and half water logged. There were so many of them; they couldn’t take them all, but there were several other civilian ships nearby to help pick up survivors. One boat, the Moonstone (as it said on its stern), had to pull out early, lest they be engulfed in fire, but once at a safe distance, they slowed to a stop, near the Heartbeat, and began hoisting men to safety again.

               In moments, all the surviving men had found footing on a boat. The last man was hoisting himself onto the already overcrowded Heartbeat. Silvia offered him a hand and heaved him up the last few steps. He keeled over on deck, coughing up water and oil. She kneeled down next to him, rubbing his back to help him in any way she could, but after a few guttural gasps, he lost consciousness at her feet, like he was knocked over the head.

               “JAMES!” a young man of maybe twenty years, pushed through the crowd and fell to his knees. He shook the other desperately, but the drowned soldier didn’t respond. The man looked up at Silvia, desperate fear in his eyes. “What have you done?!” he roared.

               “Nothing! I haven’t done a thing!” Silvia cried, putting her hands up immediately.

               The younger soldier stood, and in response, she got to her feet as well, but he towered over her. He advanced, slowly at first, but in an instant he was on her, hands grasping painfully at her wrists. “If you’ve done anything to him, I swear I’ll kill you right on the spot!”

“S-sir, you’re hurting me,” Silvia murmured, trying to keep her cool. She tried, at first, to firmly pull her arms away, but the man wouldn’t release her. “Sir, please!” She tried yanking this time, but it was as if she had no strength against him, he held her tight, fingers leaving marks that would surely turn to bruises. Finally, in a panic, she cried, “Let go!” She tried in a frantic to pull away from him, but that only made him hold on tighter.

               He cornered her against the railing, hands on her shoulders now, threatening to push her overboard. “That’s my brother! Do you understand?! He’s all I’ve got!” He aggressively shook her, eyes brimming with tears. The grip he had on her was so tight, that she thought he might break her. He pressed against her even more, so that she was hanging over the balustrade, the water thrashing from the sinking ship under her head now. Silvia screamed at the top of her lungs, fearing he would let her drop.

               “OY!”

               The threatening soldier’s head snapped upward towards the voice. It came from the neighboring boat, the Moonstone.

               “LEAVE HER ALONE.”

               The young man half sobbed, half laughed, unthreatened. “What’re you going to do? Look at her!  She could be one of them! What will you do if—“

               “I’ll swim over and punch ye in yer damn mouth if ye don' let her go!”

               David and William had finally managed to push their way through the crowd of onlookers, none of whom tried to stop what was happening. David yanked the soldier off of Silvia, while William helped her regain her balance.

               “And I’ll throw you overboard and let you drown!” David yelled, his temper brimming hot.

               “Son—“ William tried to intervene, to be the voice of reason.

               “No, Dad, I don’t care--!”

               There was choked coughing behind them. The drowned soldier, who had been forgotten in that moment, had managed to spit out the water and oil on his own and began to regain consciousness. The younger man pushed the boy away and rushed to his side, forgetting about all the drama he’d caused in his emotional outburst, leaving Silvia standing there with William, and a still bristling David. Her knees were shaking; she thought she might faint.

               “Silvia darling, you should sit,” the older man said, ushering her downward.

               She grasped the railing in desperation for something sturdy to hold, though her hands felt cold and numb, fingers too stiff to wrap around anything.

               “Hey!” At first, she didn’t hear the voice calling for her attention, but it was persistent. She looked over at the Moonstone. It belonged to a man with fair skin, and messy, yellow hair as bright as the sun, despite being wet. He wore a drying blue RAF pilot’s uniform and life vest, and he stood out tall, like a beacon amongst all the crouched soldiers still covered head to toe in black oil around him. “Ye alrigh’?” he asked politely, Scottish accent as plain as day, concern etched in his brow.

               Silvia could not find the strength for words yet; all she could do was nod meekly. The man smiled at her. He looked like he wanted to say more, but David was suddenly pulling her to her feet.

               “Your hands are cold as ice!” he said, rubbing his thumbs over her palms. “Come, let’s get you out of the wind.” He wrapped his arm around her shaking shoulders and led her away from the railing and away from prying eyes.

               The hours since then seemed to pass in a numbing blur. Silvia was quiet for most of the way back, and spent the majority of the trip with the older man at the helm. David took over the duties of passing around blankets and tea while the two sailors that were assigned to their boat cared for the maintenance side on their own. Occasionally, some of the soldiers passing by her would give a sympathetic look, or apologize for the behavior of the man who threatened her, though many just stared at her like she was sick.

               When they docked at Weymouth, the sun was just setting below the horizon, the sky above them a passionate pink. As the soldiers filed off of the Heartbeat, Silvia stayed back, watching them all until the last of them had gotten back onto land. Being the first civilian vessel to return, the docks weren’t especially crowded, so it was easy to see everything going on. She watched quietly as dry, stern looking men in uniform lining the docks handed out travel chits and directed them towards the rail yard, just further inland. There were some women in aprons handing out cups of hot tea with proud smiles, as well. William came to her side, pulling on his jacket. “Are you alright, my dear?” he asked quietly.

               “I’ll be okay,” she murmured. “Are you going home, sir?”

               “Yes, I think so. It’s been a long day, though I think my son will stay for a while. What about you? Would you like me to take you back to your parents?”

               Fiddling with the hem of David’s sweater, still around her shoulders, Silvia shrugged timidly. “I…I think I’m going to stay just a bit longer, as well. I’d like to continue to help if I can,” she gestured towards the people on deck handing things out.

               William was quiet for a long moment. He was contemplating her reasons without outright asking her. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I won’t force you if you’re not ready to go, but just be careful. Have David walk you home alright? The streets can be dangerous for a lone woman.”

               “I will.” Before William could disappear into the encroaching night, Silvia called to him and ran to meet him on the street. “I just… I wanted to say… thank you, for believing in me, and letting me come along… despite me being a woman and ‘looking—‘“

               William stopped her there. “I let you come along because you genuinely wanted to help. It doesn’t matter to me that you’re a young girl; in your heart you have the strength of a hundred men. You showed that to me plenty of times before today... And about that nonsense of you ‘looking like the enemy,’” he didn’t even need her to say it, “you’re a loyal British citizen. We’re at war and we need to stick together; we need selfless people like you—“

               He couldn’t finish his sentence. Silvia threw her arms around him, a warm grateful feeling filling her heart to bursting. She didn’t know it, but she needed to hear that.

* * *

 

               An hour later, she found herself at the rails, standing at a table handing out blankets. Many of these men passed by with their heads down; they were too ashamed of failing at Dunkirk to even look anyone in the eye, but those that did, simply walked by her with some sort of sense to pass on supplies from her, and went to the next table for blankets instead. She didn’t let being scorned dampen her spirit though; people like William believed in her and she wasn’t going to relent now. One man, who looked her directly in the eyes, reached for a sheet. In her eagerness of someone willing to take something from her, she let go too early, and it fell to the floor; the man didn’t even stop his stride, he simply looked away and moved on. Whether he let her drop it on purpose or not, she had to admit, it hurt.

               She came round the table to pick up the thin duvet, but there was already someone there doing so for her. He looked up at her with clear, electric blue eyes before he stood up to his full height, a complete head taller than her. His yellow hair, dry now, showed bright even in the dim, smoky railyard, weak lights overhead glinting off of his RAF wings pinned to his uniform. “Tha’ was rude of him; I’m sorry ‘bout that,” he said, lips pressed thin in annoyance as he handed the blanket back to her.

               It was the man from the Moonstone. Silvia found herself at a loss for words. She recalled his words during her ordeal; he had defended her, threatened the man who threatened her, checked on her after it was all over. Was he really different from the majority of the enlisted men she had met today? She admitted, he was good looking, but that wasn’t warrant enough to suspect he might be kind to her outside of general application of gentlemanly manners.

               “Yes, well… they’ve had it rough. He was probably stressed from everything else going on,” she replied quietly after a moment. A silence stretched between them before she thought to say, “Thank you for… trying to protect me today.” With hesitant twists of the blanket, she extended a hand for a proper greeting. “I’m Silvia Darrow.”

               The man took it and brought it to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles, maintaining eye contact as he did so. “Andrew Collins; I was honoured to do it.” He smirked at the blush blossoming across her cheeks and let her hand slowly slip from his grip before commenting, “Ye’re quite the helpful lass. First fetchin’ them from Dunkirk, now staying after to welcome them home?” For a man who had just come from a warzone, he seemed rather unaffected.

               Unconsciously, Silvia brought her hand close to her chest and held it with the other. She cleared her throat before answering, afraid her voice might have escaped her. “I, uhm… I wanted to stay and help with supply distribution. There are only so many volunteers here to assist, and I’d like to do what I can.”

               After a thoughtful look crossed his face, Collins queried, “Well would ye mind if I stayed to help ye as well?”

               Surprise flashed across Silvia’s face. “Don’t you want to board the train…? Go home to your family? Sleep; rest?”

               He shrugged. “There’s no one waiting for me at home, and I wouldnae mind helping out a… a beautiful young lassie like yerself.” He glanced at Silvia, eyes flashing bright, as she couldn’t help but let out a shy giggle, one that she quickly quieted. With a heavy sigh, he added, “As for sleep… well, I can rest when I’m dead.” He smirked kindly at her uncertain expression.

               “Well… if you’d like to help me pass out blankets to the men, I’m sure they’re more likely to take it from you than from me…”

               Collins flashed her another crooked smile. “Pretty face like that, they’d be crazy to keep away from ye.”

* * *

 

               Midnight was approaching when the last of the men from Dunkirk passed through the railyard. Silvia was assisting in clean up, dead on her feet long ago. Her whole body ached and her eyelids felt like they weighed a ton, but she knew she shouldn’t slack on things at the finish line. As hard as she tried though, she couldn’t help but drag her legs as she walked. She barely registered the light hand that came down on her shoulder. It was the pilot, Andrew Collins.

               “Ye look tired. Shouldn’t ye head home?” he asked, concerned.

               “No, no, we’re almost done,” she replied, words slurring slightly.

               The folded sheet she had in her hands were taken away by an older woman who pushed her towards Collins. “Deary, you go on home now. We can take it from here.”

               “Oh,” came the girl’s reply. Her brain was fuzzy with fatigue. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? I can go a bit longer, I think.”

               “No, you sweet thing; you go on home and get some well-deserved rest.”

               Collins gently took Silvia’s hand in his, looping her arm in his own as they walked along. “Can you direct me to yer house?” he asked quietly. “Or should I rent ye a room?”

               At that moment, another hand firmly grasped Silvia’s arm. She looked over her shoulder to see David standing there, looking as haggard as she felt. His brows were furrowed together in apprehension as he looked at the pair of them, wandering round in the night.

               “Silvia, come. I’ll take you home,” he said, foregoing introductions, grasping her free hand, tired eyes focused solely on her.

               The pilot instantly stood to his full height. “Silvia, who’s this?” he asked, tone light but cautionary.

               Stifling a huge yawn, she sleepily introduced the two men. They stiffly shook hands.

               It was Collins who extended a friendly gesture first. “Sorry, pal. Didn’t know who you might’ve been at first, grabbing her hand so forwardly like that. Just wanted to make sure there was no trouble. ‘M Collins.”

               David frowned, clearly fatigued with no patience for something like this at the current hour. “No trouble at all, mate; I’m a family friend; name’s David. I was there on the boat, when that man attacked Sil. Dad told me to watch out for her and make sure she made it home safe,” his words came out rigid and defensive, but unapologetic. “Didn’t know who you were or your intentions; hope you take no offense. Strange man, taking a young woman into the dark night… Just doesn’t look right.”

               The other man pressed his lips together in an awkward attempt at a smile, brows raised, as if he hadn’t just been made out to be a possible sex offender, though he had to admit, it was definitely understandable when it was put that way. He had more to say, but none of them were in the mood for an extended, passive-aggressive conversation at this hour, so he simply bit his tongue.

               “Silvia, come,” David said, pulling her forward weakly.

               Like a balloon on a string, she drifted forward, but the poor thing was so tired at this point, that she tripped over her own boots and fell forward onto David, who had no strength to catch her. They both would’ve fallen to the ground if it wasn’t for Collins’ quick hand, holding her fast round the waist. He set Silvia back on her wobbly feet, arm still around her to keep her steady. “Ye alrigh’?” he asked, pushing strands of hair from her face. She replied only by looking at him blearily and nodded. Looking over at David, he found that the young man was in just as bad a shape as the girl was, with his head in his hands.

               Huffing quietly, Collins, scooped Silvia up into his arms. As if it was a natural thing, she wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her tired head on his shoulder without resistance. “Well, neither of ye can seem to manage supportin’ each other right now. Let me accompany ye back, just to help ye both home, and I’ll be on my way, promise.”

               There was no protest. In fifteen minutes’ time, they stood in front of Silvia’s front door, waiting for someone to answer their knocking. Collins looked down at her; she was fast asleep in his arms, eyes fluttering; she must’ve had a lot to see in her dreams. To the pilot’s surprise, an older British man with a face not matching Silvia’s, answered the door, looking tired and worried, pulling his robe tighter around him against the cool night breeze.

               “Good evening, Mr. Darrow,” David greeted quietly. “I’m sorry to call on you at such an hour, but we’ve brought Silvia back home.”

               The older man’s eyes snapped from the boy’s face to the young woman in Collins’ arms. He urgently stepped forward and grasped her face in his hands, fear in his eyes. “Is she alright? What’s wrong with her?” he asked, in a hushed voice, shaking.

               “Nothing, she’s just very tired; she did a lot for us today,” Collins answered.

               The father wrapped his arms around his daughter, relieving the other man of her. “I—yes, that sounds like her,” he murmured, eyeing the blond’s RAF uniform. “Thank you—both—for bringing my daughter home.” He looked the pilot directly in his bright blue eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m Arthur Darrow.” He awkwardly tried to extend a hand to shake, but could not.

               Collins chuckled understandingly, and introduced himself. “We’ll leave ye to return inside, sir. It’s late, and I’m sure the both of you would like to rest.” After another quick thank you, Arthur retreated back into his home with Silvia in his arms. When the door shut, the pilot turned to David, expectantly. “Well, we should get ye home, too.”

               The boy eyed him wearily. “You don’t need to worry about me getting home.”

               “Nonsense; ye’re much too tired to make it back on yer own. I’ll leave ye alone when I know ye’re safe,” he answered, good-natured.

               David simply yawned and began walking, murmuring, “Very well then.”

               His house was just another ten minutes’ walk down the street. The two of them stood outside his door for half a moment, before the younger man turned to ask. “Well, what are you going to do now?”

               Collins shrugged, nonchalantly. “S’pose I’ll go find an inn or some place with a cosy bed for the night. The trains have all gone, and I don’ know anyone who lives here. Maybe I’ll walk until mornin’; this town seems nice enough.”

               With a yawn, David gestured towards his house. “Well you can forget the inn. We’ve got a spare cosy bed inside, and as much as you want to pretend like you’re not tired, you can’t deny its calling your name.”

               With a small, toothy smile, the blond said, “Well I didnae say that, but that call is quite alluring.”

               They both stepped inside, the door shutting with a snap.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm back! Sorry for the long wait, but here it is!
> 
> And as always a HUGE thank you to lowdenfordays on Tumblr for her help. <3

               In the morning, Silvia woke covered in layers of blankets in her own bed. She laid there for what felt like hours, recalling yesterday. The last she remembered was David insisting on taking her home; he must have. Throwing the sheets back, she found that one of the layers was his cardigan, the one he had draped over her shoulders on the _Heartbeat_. Silvia had nearly forgotten his kindness after her ordeal. She’d have to go and thank him and return his sweater. Remembering that her mum and dad might be absolutely furious with her, she did her best to wash and dress in silence, so as not to alert them.

               Downstairs, her parents were still having breakfast. She heard the clinking of utensils on plates, assuring her they were still at the table. Clutching the sweater in hand, she creeped down the stairs as silently as possible, her palms sweaty; for once the steps didn’t creak. She reached the front door and was so close to opening it when her breath caught in her throat at her father’s voice.

               “ _Silvia Rose Darrow, get in here right now_!”

               Eyes shut in regret, Silvia hung her head in defeat as she slouched her way into the kitchen. Arthur and Evelyn both peered at her from over the top of their morning tea. Their expressions were extremely annoyed and disapproving.

               “Just where do you think you’re off to, young lady?” her mother questioned. Before Silvia could answer, she continued, jumping straight to the point. “What were you thinking, just jumping aboard a boat crossing into war?” Of course Arthur told her. “Disobeying your father, burdening the Wrights; you could’ve been sunk, drowned, or been shot! What would you have done if you ended up stranded there—“

               “Evelyn, that’s enough,” Arthur said curtly. Her mother fell silent instantly, her lips pursed with more pressing words not expressed. He turned completely to his daughter. “Do you know how worried we were?”

               “Mum, Dad, I’m sorry,” her voice shook, but she tried to sound bold with her next words. “I just—“

               “Just _what_ , Silvia?” Arthur stood from his chair. “What do you think would happen? Don’t you understand what is going on in the world right now? Don’t you know that… that you’re unsafe, _looking the way you do_ —“

               “The way I look shouldn’t mean anything if I stand for the right things, Dad!”

               Arthur’s expression changed in a snap from anger to pained, as if he didn’t quite know how to speak his next thoughts properly. “Darling, don’t be ignorant. Don’t you understand what is happening right now?” He was at his wit’s end. He wanted to grab her, shake her, slap her until she knew.

               Silvia’s lip quivered. She didn’t think she was different from anyone around her, but she knew that they all treated her differently. With “her people” as someone unpleasant had once put it, joining the Germans, people were beginning to give her looks more often, or even openly avoiding her. “Dad, it’s not going to be like that, I know it!” Silvia did well covering up her hurt feelings; she spoke brightly and hopeful for the future.

               There was so much he wanted to say to her. She was only a girl who knew nothing about how people really were. Silvia was pure and bright, and naïve and optimistic. Sometimes, the man believed his daughter truly saw the world through rose-coloured glasses. Evelyn shared the same sentiment, and they agreed she needed to be protected. But who was Arthur to go and crush such an outlook like that? After all, in his entire life, he’d hardly met anyone as positive as Silvia. He just wanted her to be safe, and he tried to communicate that, not through words, but through his eyes as they glared at each other. He pulled his girl in and embraced her. “I just… want you to be safe.” After a moment, Evelyn joined too, and they tried to hug out all of their frustrations, like a perfect family should in their eyes. It seemed to work for them, but Silvia remained tense and irritated, though the two scarcely seemed to notice.

               Arthur sat back down while his wife went to fetch a fresh pot of tea. Clearing his throat and taking up the paper again, he asked, “Where are you headed this morning? Have you got an early shift?” He spoke nonchalantly, as if trying to pretend this confrontation never happened, like he couldn’t feel the girl still prickling. He asked about her work because he knew she loved her job at the flower shop and thought the topic might disarm her.

               “Oh,” Silvia began, suddenly nervous again, “no, I’m not working today. Actually, I’m going to the Wrights’ to return David’s sweater. He lent it to me on the chilly ride over.” She chose not to worry her parents about what had happened with the distressed soldier. It would only frighten them. “Anyway, I should go. I’m sure David forgot he gave me his cardigan, and he must be missing it.”

               “Don’t you want to have breakfast first?” Evelyn asked, as Arthur tucked into his second helping of eggs.

               “Not hungry,” Silvia called from the hallway on her way out; she was dying to leave. “Bye!”

* * *

 

               It wasn’t noon yet, but the street was already busy. People were very invested in helping with the war effort it seemed, bustling from door to door, preparing care packages. The ten minute walk wasn’t as peaceful as she had hoped, but Silvia had managed to make it to the Wrights’ block without bumping shoulders. That is, until she reached the front door, and ran face first into someone’s chest.

               Silvia stumbled a few steps back, rubbing her stinging nose. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” She stared down at her feet, embarrassed by her clumsiness. A chuckle, followed by Scottish-accented, “Mornin’!” made her look up. There stood Andrew Collins, tall and handsome as she remembered. His bright hair was combed, and his uniform was dry, pressed and sharp; clearly he was taken care of overnight. Despite his appearance improving though, he looked tired, as though he hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest, or perhaps, everything that had occurred the day before had finally caught up with him.

               “Andrew, good morning!” she exclaimed, feeling her heart instantly race. She was suddenly very glad she took the time to clean herself up and wore a pretty dress today. “What are you doing here?”

               “I—Well, I was on my way out, but I suppose bumpin’ into the prettiest girl in town is much better than the rest of my plans,” Collins said, smirking. This man was an instant flirt; trouble for sure.

               Silvia giggled, her face turning pink. “I’m sorry; I meant-- I thought you would have taken a train last night into the city with the other returning soldiers.”

               Collins shrugged, and then looked earnestly down at her. “No, I stayed with ye to help clean up; and besides, I cannnae deny the... the view here is quite lovely.” He winked at her. “Anyway, the last train left long before we finished up, so I wouldnae have been able to go, even if I wanted to. Don’t ye remember?”

               “Honestly, no. The last thing I can recall was David trying to take me home; next thing I knew, I was waking up in my bed.”

               The pilot laughed. “Darlin’, not to deflate the lad, but he didn’t take ye home. Well, he did, sort of, but I did all the work.” At Silvia’s puzzled look, Collins explained. “Ye were practically out before the night was over. David wanted to take ye home, but he was barely standing himself, poor lad. I had the gracious opportunity to sweep ye off yer feet, which I took,” he gave her another wink here, to which she blushed, “and he led me to yer house.” He paused for a moment before adding, “To his credit, he saved my arse and let me stay the night in his home; I would’ve been wandering the streets ‘til morning, if no’ for him.”

               “You must feel lucky that David was there to rescue you,” Silvia joked.

               “Sure do; if he hadn’t, I wouldnae have had the opportunity to see ye this morning,” Collins replied, grinning ear to ear. How was he so effortlessly smooth? He took a moment to appreciate her laughing at him before asking, “Say, would ye want to join me for a late breakfast?”

               “Oh,” she said abruptly. “Well, I have to return this to David; that’s why I’m here, you see…” Silvia had gotten so caught up with Collins’ flirtatious ways that she admittedly had forgotten why she had come in the first place.

               Without missing a beat, he replied with a smile, “I don’t mind waiting fer ye.”

               Silvia was going to pass out with all the blood making her cheeks glow at this rate. “Oh no, you don’t have to do that. I don’t know how long I’ll be in there, and you should be reporting back soon, or…whatever you have to do next, don’t you…?”

               Collins shrugged. “I don’t mind waiting fer ye.”

               Biting her bottom lip in thought, Silvia considered the options; on one hand, she could return David’s cardigan, as she should, and perhaps catch up with the Wrights; maybe David remembered more of last night than she did, or maybe there wasn’t much else. On the other, that would cut in on any time she might have with Collins before he left and she’d never see him again; and she definitely wanted to spend more time with him. It was probably the hopeless romantic in her, to meet and be wooed by the brave, handsome man in uniform, wanting to give in to his charm, but she knew that whatever they’d share today would be a fleeting memory; she’d never see him again once he left town. Was there any point in pursuing it? However, there was no harm in indulging a little; besides, David had gone all night without his sweater, and Silvia wanted to thank Collins properly for taking her home.

               Folding the garment over her arm, the young belle smiled up at the pilot. “Let’s go have that late breakfast.”

* * *

 

               For Silvia, she had never experienced true compatibility before; never felt that instant click that one would feel with someone who would be a fast friend first, and a best friend mere months later. She had always felt that all the relationships in her life were not easy. There was always that slight undertone of disagreement with her parents. The girls who went to school with her always teased her for the way she looked; they insisted they were only playing, tough love. The Wrights were her parents’ friends, as kind as they were to her, and while she was good friends with David, it was not instantaneous. But with Collins, it was like an unconstrained breath of fresh air. He made Silvia laugh, for real and not just polite chuckling. Whenever he talked about something, he made it engaging for her, and he seemed genuinely interested in the things she had to say too.

The pair had gone to the nearby café for a brief breakfast, but ended up staying all through the afternoon. When Silvia noticed the time, they meant to walk together to the railyard and part ways, but somehow they ended up walking to her favourite park, further into town where they ended up sitting at a bench, huddled together.

               Silvia wanted to keep the chat light and tried not to make it too personal, but it was practically impossible not to engage in meaningful conversation with the man. Collins talked about his family, parents and younger brother, all back in Scotland, and about the farm his uncle owned that he frequented as a kid. He talked about how, thanks to that, he had sprained his shoulder because of a fall from a bucking horse. But even through an injury like that, he enjoyed riding because when he and the animal were one, and the fire burned in them, it felt like he was flying, which it turned out, was what inspired him to sign up to be a pilot for the Royal Air Force. He talked about his friend Farrier, the bravest flier he ever knew, from whom he was recently separated, and hoped to reunite with when he got to the base.

               In return, Silvia talked about her own fun memories with family; her aunt Delilah who taught her how to play piano, and her cousins who had spent countless hours staying up late with her, swing dancing in the living room. She talked about her secret desire about leaving home and traveling the world to help as many people as she could. Her parents said it was a ridiculous and impossible dream, and briefly discussed how they had practically laid out the plans they made for her future. If she had to be honest though, Silvia felt everything they had talked about was all too personal for two strangers; she feared her secret scorns would make it to her parents. Then again, they would never see each other again anyway, so she had no qualms about blurting out her deepest thoughts. It was a huge weight off her shoulders.

               By the time they realized they had spent the entire day talking, the sky was already burning a lovely red with the setting sun. Silvia walked with Collins to the trains, dreading their goodbye. As they stood close on the platform together, they shared no words, only awkward smiles and fleeting glances until the final boarding whistle blew.

               “Well, I… I guess this is me.” They stood together, quiet, having so much to say, but not knowing where to start. “Thank you, for a lovely last day in Weymouth.” Collins gave her another crooked grin before stepping on board the train.

               Before she could stop herself, “Wait!” Silvia called before he could turn away. From her dress pocket, she pulled the folded lacy, rose-coloured kerchief that she used on days when she wanted to hide her dark hair, and placed it gently into Collins’ hand. He looked at it, quiet for a moment, before closing his fingers around it tightly. “If you’re ever in Weymouth again…” Her voice trailed with hesitancy. She knew it as a long shot and it was silly to hope so, but she couldn’t leave the opportunity hanging. “If you’re ever in Weymouth again, please find me.” She felt so old-fashioned giving him her scarf, like she was a princess giving a knight a favour, but she wanted to give him something, anything, to remember her by, at least for a while. It was that hopeless romantic in her, rising up.

               Collins grinned at her, giving her a single, determined nod of confirmation. “I hope I’ll see ye again, Silvia Darrow.”

               “I hope so too, Andrew Collins…” she answered, voice wispy with nervousness.

               The pilot stared at her for one last, long time before turning slowly back to the locomotive and disappearing into its depths.

* * *

 

               There were no more empty cabins left. As much as he wanted to, Collins couldn’t get a window seat to wave at and watch Silvia’s pretty little figure on the platform. He’d just have to catch his last glimpses of her from over the tops of other men’s heads. Even amongst the crowd, he could pick her out, despite her being so short. Her turquoise dress and jet black hair set in long curls down her back would be burned into his mind for the rest of his life.

               As the train left the station, Collins sat back in his seat and looked around. There were a few men in uniforms in the crowd, looking defeated and miserable, but mostly it was civilians. The majority of the soldiers had gone home last night, eager to get as far away from Dunkirk as possible. He felt uneasy being one of a few military men amongst the regular crowd, but he didn’t regret staying at all. He enjoyed every minute with Silvia, and wouldn’t trade it for anything. He’d probably never see her again though, so he needed to put it in the past. He looked forward to what was to come now which was seeing Farrier, who likely took a train last night, back at the base. They could drink in honour of Fortis Leader when they reunited.

               Time passed in a blur as the train rattled along, and Collins, feeling sleepy, cradled his head in his hand to stay upright, Silvia’s kerchief still folded into a little square in his palm. It smelled like her perfume; gardenias… or was it jasmine blossoms? He was never good at distinguishing flowers but it didn’t matter. He just knew that it was becoming a comforting scent to him, and between the gentle rocking of the compartment, and his face buried in Silvia’s lovely perfume, he was drifting to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

               Night had already encroached over the city when Silvia returned home. She hardly remembered the walk; all she could think about was the time spent with Collins. She was on her way upstairs to her bedroom when she heard her father calling her. He was angry; she could tell by just the way he said her name. Even though he was in a mood, it didn’t affect hers in the slightest as she drifted, dream-like, to the back sitting room, where both of her parents were already waiting for her.

               Evelyn was in her armchair, knitting as she always did in her free time. With the yellow lamp glowing beside her, she looked the picture of a perfect house wife; pretty dress, perfect hair, impeccable craftsmanship with her handsome husband by her side. Arthur sat next to her in his own cushy chair, reading the evening paper. His eyes moved along the lines, but his brows were furrowed together and his finger tapped impatiently against the paper. He hardly seemed like he was taking in a single sentence. When Silvia entered the room with a creak of the swinging door, they both looked up. There was a moment of tense silence before any of them spoke.

               “Did you call me for m—“ Silvia began quietly, but was shortly cut off.

               “Where were you all day?” her mother asked, voice pitched high in annoyance.

               She didn’t answer immediately, contemplating on telling the truth or not. “Well I went to David’s—“

               “You were not at the Wrights’ at all.” Evelyn was good at cutting her off, especially when she was angry. “We rang and asked if you were there when you didn’t come home for supper.”

               “Neither William, his wife, nor David had seen you all day, so don’t you try to feed us that codswallop,” Arthur chimed in.

               “Well, I actually did go by the Wrights’ residence…” When her parents remained quiet, Silvia continued her original statement, patience dripping in her voice. “I ran into someone outside of their house, went to have breakfast with him, and lost track of time.”

               “ _Him_? _Who is_ _‘him’_?” Evelyn spit it out in an obnoxious, venomous way. “What about David? What’s he going to think, seeing you hanging round some strange man?”

               “ _What about David_? We’re just friends, Mum!”

               “Certainly not; I see the way he looks at you! His mother and I have been talking about the two of you, and he’s a good match if you ask me—“

               “I didn’t,” Silvia muttered under her breath.

               Highly irritated, Evelyn shakily put away her knitting needles and clasped her hands together in her lap. “So tell me,” she said, “who is this mysterious man you met outside the Wrights’ that kept you away all day?”

               Silvia tried to gather her thoughts as best she could under their burning gaze, fiddling with the front buttons of her dress to bide for time. “…He’s… the Air Force pilot who took me home last night…” She said it as quietly as she could, having no idea how her parents would react to her hanging round a military man, and a stranger from out of town at that. Her mum never liked men in uniform; said they were too rowdy, promiscuous, and forward for her taste. She always wanted Silvia to settle down with a nice, predictable salary man, preferably someone who owned his own business, so that way when she married into his family, she’d have a position of power.

               Arthur folded his paper at the mention of the lad from the night before. He remembered the disheveled mop of blond hair, the square shoulders of the uniform with the glinting RAF wings pinned to the breast. The young man carried Silvia so easily, as if he had arms specifically for that. Arthur wasn’t sure how he felt about him, but he was at least grateful his daughter stood before him now.

               “What did he want?” he asked.

               Silvia’s glance darted up to meet her father’s for a brief moment before answering. “Breakfast.”

               “Is that all?”

               “…And to just talk.”

               Arthur wasn’t sure what to make of this. “What did you talk about?”

               She shrugged “Just nonsense.”

               “Why would he want to talk to you? He must have wanted something. You know how military men can be. You know, I keep telling you, they come back from war and are always looking for young, compassionate women who fall for their uniform--” Evelyn cut in.

               Silvia just shook her head. “No, he just wanted to talk.”

               There was a long silence before Arthur asked. “And that’s all you did, right?” The young woman nodded vigorously in response, wanting to prove her truth. Her father huffed through his nose after a while and then dismissed her. “Alright then, off to bed with you. We will not have another incident like this again, do you understand?”

               Silvia hastily agreed and rushed out of the room.

               Evelyn stared Arthur down. He knew what she was going to say. “Why do you always do that?”

               Huffing deeply, he buried his nose back into his paper. “Do what?” he asked, monotone. His dear wife narrowed her eyes at him. That was a definite sign that they’d be arguing well into the night.

* * *

 

               Months passed before anything remarkable happened to Silvia. By that time, the weather had gone from hot sunny days to chilly rainy ones, and the town was flooded with Allied soldiers and citizens escaping occupied France.

               Silvia was running home in the middle of a dark, late afternoon storm. She had gone to the park and sat on the bench she shared with Collins all that time ago when the clouds rolled in, propelled by a sudden wind. The day had been cold and bright beforehand, beckoning Silvia for a day out, so the downpour was unexpected. At home, she burst through the front door with a bang, dripping water from her hair and clothes. Evelyn came downstairs and chastised her for causing a mess and a ruckus before going to fetch a towel for her.

               After supper and a hot bath, Silvia found a damp envelope with hand written addresses, shoved between her neatly stacked books above her desk, as if it was being hidden. She poked her head out to the hallway and looked around; no one there. Though, what was she expecting? A broad shouldered man with a popped collar, walking away into the darkness? She closed the door, turned out all the lights in her room, save for the lamp by her bed, and pulled on some wool socks before grabbing the envelope and hopping into bed, knees pulled up to her chest.

               The letter must have been delivered just after the rain came. It was still a little clammy, the messy handwriting slightly smudged, as if the whole thing was hurriedly wiped. The sending address had no return name, and it wasn’t a typical one that she’d seen on most residential or corporate mail, though it was definitely from within the United Kingdom. Carefully ripping it open, she caught a dim whiff of what smelled like men’s cologne; sandalwood, amber, patchouli, and perhaps something a bit citrus-y. The penmanship on the letter was mostly preserved; clearly the envelope had taken the brunt of the water. Silvia’s eyes scanned the note, searching for a clue as to from who it could be. At the very bottom was a scrawled name that made her heart skip a beat: _A. Collins_.

               Her eyes immediately jumped back up to the top of the page. Collins started it out by telling her about how his days had been going. After a point, she could tell that he was simply rambling, looking for things to say, simply so he could write this letter. It was halfway through when she realized something was off.

               _Look, I don’t know if you haven’t gotten any of my other letters, maybe they got lost in the mail. Or maybe you thought of me as a one-time encounter and never thought we’d have anything to do with each other. Truthfully, I thought the same, but I have to admit, I can’t get you out of my head. I don’t know what it is but… but I don’t know._ She imagined what his nervous laughter would be like here. _Just… just tell me I’m not the only one who feels this way. I… hope I’ll get a letter from you soon. Yours, A. Collins._

               Silvia’s brows scrunched together; his “other letters”? In all the time that he’d been gone, she hadn’t received anything from him. Perhaps she’d just overlooked them, or maybe they had gotten lost on the way here.

               She went downstairs to check the small table by the front door where they sorted their mail. It was clean, as per usual; no outstanding letters for her. She couldn’t recall seeing any letters sitting there for long periods of time throughout the months and figured that perhaps they would have been moved to somewhere the stack of envelopes might be considered less of an eyesore in their incredibly neat home. The back sitting room was her next guess; that’s where they had their small library, where shelves lined, and were built into, the walls. The door open with a creak as per usual, but Silvia was unexpectedly greeted by the soft glow of a reading lamp at this late hour. Arthur was sitting there in his chair, reading a book by the dim light, his half-moon spectacles sitting low at the bridge of his nose. He didn’t look up at the sound of her entrance, but he acknowledged her in that all-knowing way that fathers did.

               “Darling, isn’t it a bit late for you to be wandering around the house?”

               “Sorry, Dad; didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m just looking—“

               “Say, dear. Did you happen to read anything interesting today?” he spoke over her calmly, flipping the page of his book. She looked at him, completely unaware as to why he gave the sudden change in subject. When his daughter didn’t answer, Arthur continued. “When’s the last time you looked at your books? Anything interesting there?”

               Silvia’s brain clicked. “You’re the one who put the letter in my room?”

               Arthur didn’t answer, only adjusted his glasses in a knowing gesture.

               “But why did you put it between my books? I almost missed it.”

               The man put his own book down finally, marking his spot by wedging his finger between the pages. “About a fortnight ago, I came across a few letters, not in your mother’s name, in her ‘hiding hole’. You know the one, behind the dresser; the one she loses things in when she forgets she has that spot.” He took off his glasses and carefully placed them on the small table next to him. “Anyway, I found them there when I was looking for my flask. I’m assuming she pulled your mail when they came in and saw that it was from a military base.”

               “A military base? How can she tell?” Silvia asked curiously, thinking about the sending address on the envelope she had tucked under her pillow.

               “She had an old boyfriend who would write to her from his base. Evidently, he’d cheat on her while on leave or something like that, which is why she dislikes military men,” he answered in a hurry, brushing it off like it was nothing to him. “Anyway, you know she doesn’t like you seeing that Collins boy. Why are you writing to him? And moreover, why are you being so blatant about it?”

               Abashed, she looked down at her feet before replying. “Well I haven’t been writing to him… I wouldn’t know where to send the letters. I didn’t even know he was writing to me…” She didn’t dare look up, afraid to see the glaring look of a parent who didn’t believe his child. Instead, she pulled gently at hem of her sleeping cardigan before probing further. “So…the one in my room…”

               “I happened to get the mail this time as it came. I saw that young man had written another one for you and hid it while your mother was upstairs before I delivered it to you.”

               There was a lull between them before Silvia plucked the courage to ask her father, “…You wouldn’t… happen to have those other letters you found in Mum’s hiding hole, would you…?”

               Arthur looked at her for a long time before standing and pulling three envelopes from his back pocket. He knew she’d come looking for them after reading the one he’d put in her room. Her eyes lit up at seeing them, the same handwriting adorning the face of each of them, all with her name scrawled in the center. “I want you to know, I’m not condoning this. But I want you to also know that I’m indebted to him for bringing you home safely that night, after worrying my head off about you.”

               Silvia quickly hugged her father and grabbed the letters out of his hand, unintentionally ignoring his hint about him stressing over her. Rushing back up the stairs, she could feel her heart racing out of excitement. She quickly closed her bedroom door and leapt into bed, wanting to be comfortable before delving into Collins’ notes.

               The first one was dated just a week after the day he left Weymouth. In it, the airman talked about what he was up to since returning to his home base (he didn’t specify where, only said it was nearer than she thought). He said that since he had debriefed staff there that he practically crashed his plane, they forced him to have a psychiatric examination to determine if he was shell shocked; he wasn’t, but they were determined to keep him grounded for a while. He reported that Fortis Leader had gone down fighting, and gave them the coordinance of his downed plane; it would be forever etched into his brain. When they asked the whereabouts of Fortis One, he had no answer, and was in fact, hoping they could tell him something, but there was no information on Farrier.

               The second, written a little after six weeks later, detailed his move to a new RAF base in Middlesex county. This letter was short, and the tone was much different, like he was tense and nervous. It was from this letter that Silvia realized he had been involved in the recent Air Force defense campaign against Germany. She remembered looking up into the sky every day for months, seeing planes fly so low, and thinking of Collins. She hardly left her house during this time; her parents simply didn’t allow it. The idea of enemy planes being overhead at any time shook them to their bones immensely.

               The third letter was dated months after, just a few weeks shy of October; it was already mid-December. The tone here was serious as well. He must have been through so much in the time between the second and third letters. He didn’t talk about anything significant, as if he lived a dull life. Perhaps he was just writing to help forget. The last line before he signed it sounded desperate, the way his voice read it in her head: “ _I want to see you again_.”

               Silvia got up and snatched the one that had come that day and re-read it. The way he wrote, it was as if the seriousness in the past letters never existed; perhaps he was getting back to himself, or maybe he had decided to put on a carefree tone so as not to worry her. She finally understood now what he meant by his “other letters”. In each of them, he signed, “Yours, A. Collins,” and each of them had the same men’s cologne scent, as if he had taken the time to spray them. Silvia wandered back to her bed after a while, plopping down on the mattress, head swimming with his words and his smell.

               Decidedly, she bolted upright, marched back to her desk and pulled out her best, loveliest stationary; a light blush tint, with roses blossoming in the bottom right corner, where she would sign her name. It was for her namesake, Silvia _Rose_ ; her parents had bought it for her on her eighteenth birthday with a bottle of her favourite perfume of gardenias, lilacs, and jasmine flowers.

               For an hour and half, almost two, she wrote a long overdue response to Collins. She told him about how she thought about him too, despite also believing their encounter would be a one-time thing. She confessed to not getting his letters until just now, and what her mother had done. She talked about what she had been up to with her life, how her mother had been, more or less, forcing her company on David; though she didn’t mind being with a friend. Once Evelyn had left them to their devices, things went quite smoothly; they had become incredibly close. She talked about all the books she had been reading, and about her most prized ones thus far were medical books that David had gifted her in secret. Her parents, after all, did not want her to join the workforce or enlist; they wanted her to be the very pretty housewife to a very successful man. In the end, it all came out to be about six pages, front and back. It seemed ridiculous, especially when she folded it up and it was just all so thick, but she just had so much to say to him. Giving it a spritz of her favourite perfume, she carefully slipped it as best she could into an envelope with her best handwriting and stuffed it between her thickest books, to hide, lest her mother came into her room in the morning and saw it.

               The post office was Silvia’s first errand the next day. She was so eager to send it off that she even went before breakfast. The man behind the counter made a comment on the size of it and she blushed. She really did have a lot to say to Collins; he had written so much to her and waited so long to hear from her that she didn’t want to pace her words. All this time she had spent thinking about him and finally getting his letters was a sign that it wasn’t just a one-time encounter, as she had feared. And while she knew that she’d somehow have to figure out a way to correspond with Collins without her mother interfering, she would find that it would be the least of her worries soon.

               In the coming months, tension between the Japanese and the UK rose as the war continued on. Silvia found that Collins’ letters, as infrequent as they were, would become the highlight of her day after coming home from hostile stares and passive-aggressive conversations with people who used to be so kind to her. She had come to resent her time at work in the flower shop, where she used to love spending her days; now it was what she dreaded the most. In her letters, she’d ask what things were like on the war front. The few letters Collins sent back to her, she could tell he was trying his best to be lighthearted. He’d tell her that almost every day, he’d have to fly out, and while he wasn’t completely sure what the outcome would be at the end of the of it, at least he could see the beautiful horizon.

               All of his correspondences were like that; he’d always try to see the good side about everything. It was truly quite admirable and inspiring. That was why, when he asked her about how thing were on her end, she didn’t tell him how things really were; nothing about how she experienced racist remarks or casual discrimination almost all the time now, and never said a word about how she stopped venturing out on her own, always asking one of her parents to go out with her. Her responses to him were always quiet encouragement and support, that one day, they would meet again. He had so much going on, so much to worry about, that Silvia didn’t feel the need to add onto his problems. More and more, she was getting stared at, stopped, questioned. Customers who came in for bouquets would sometimes even refuse to talk to her or asked to be served by someone else; the overall attitude towards her in her town had shifted completely. While things escalated on the warfront with the Japanese slowly invading other Asian countries, hostility and propaganda against those who looked like them was also on the rise.

               At the end of May, Silvia received a letter from Collins that made her heart stop. His tone was the most serious she had ever known from him. He told her he had been shot down mid-flight. He told her vaguely that there was no safe landing for his plane this time, like he had in the battle of Dunkirk; he had to parachute out. He managed to land where it was a mostly Allied controlled battleground and ran to safety after watching his plane crash in a huge explosion, behind enemy lines, as it was. He said that he had been given a psychological leave for now and while he hated that, he was just glad he could write this letter.

               Silvia was at a loss for a long time; she was too shocked to have any words to hearing that he was shot down. She was only relieved that he survived. To add to it, she knew he didn’t like being grounded; Collins joined the Air Force so he could fly. It was his favourite feeling in the world, soaring through the air, like he had nothing to weigh him down. After a while, in response, Silvia wrote him a few comforting words about how she was thankful he had managed to survive the encounter and asked him how he was doing these days outside of all of that. To close the letter, she put a few of her favourite pressed flowers from work that she had been saving for him. Silvia had done so twice before and he stated they were a pleasant surprise in addition to something he was already excited to receive. This time around, she sent a bright yellow daffodil and two small bunches of vibrant blue forget-me-nots. As usual, she spritzed her perfume on the letter before sealing it, and the flowers, in the envelop, addresses already written.

               When she went downstairs to find one of her parents to go with her to the post office, Silvia found that neither of them were home. She didn’t hear them step out so there was no telling when they’d be home. Not a big deal; she rang up David but he couldn’t run into town with her at the moment. Hanging up, Silvia looked up at the embellished clock that hung by the front door. The post office would be closing soon, and she wanted Collins to get her letter as soon as possible. Her reasonable voice told her to just wait for a more suitable time, but she didn’t want to wait. The post wasn’t that far down the street. Silvia could pop down there and zip back in no time, and if she was quick enough, no one would take notice of her.

               She pulled a cardigan over her dress, wrapped a complimenting kerchief over her hair and covered her eyes with her mum’s sunglasses before peering outside. The streets were not particularly busy; still lots of people walking around, but the late afternoon crowd was about as good as she could ask for at the moment.

               For a while, all was going well as Silvia made her way. There were a few glances but no one glared at her. She only had one more corner to go and the post office would be within sight, but as luck would have it, as Silvia took the turn she bumped into another woman and her friends, knocking them both to the ground and her sunglasses off her nose. She scrambled to put them back on, apologizing profusely as she did so, “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry—“, all the while the other woman was swearing at her.

               “Watch where you’re going you, absolute dolt!” She got to her feet with a friend’s help, dusting off her pretty dress. “Do you know how expensive this is--?” and stopped mid-sentence as the two made eye contact.  “Well, no I guess you wouldn’t be able to see with those eyes of yours.” The group of three young men and two women sniggered at the snide remark.

               Not wanting to encourage any more heckling, Silvia picked up the letter to Collins (it had slipped out of her fingers), and tried to move past them but they drew together, forming a wall and snatched the envelope from her. “What’s this you’ve got, pet?” Silvia tried to grab it back, but they just passed it from one person to the other, holding it over her head and playing keep away, like they were children in the schoolyard. She noticed the few people that were still on the streets were just looking on, some with disturbed expressions on their faces, but none of them made a move to intervene.

               Silvia felt absolutely humiliated as the group laughed on. She stared with tears in her eyes as the tallest man of the group sneered at her and said aloud, “Wonder what the bird’s sending off anyway. Let’s see shall we?”

               Without thinking, Silvia stomped as hard as she could on his toe with her heel. He howled and doubled over, holding his injured foot in both hands. She took that opportunity to snatch her letter back, but was too slow. The girl she had bumped into got to it first, crinkling the envelope and the contents. Feeling she might really be in trouble now, Silvia turned to make a run for it, but one of the other men got hold over her cardigan, a finger looping around the corner of her kerchief, and in the struggle of her trying to get away, and him trying to keep her there, her sweater tore at the seams with a loud ‘ _krrrrrrccchhh_ ’ and the poor girl fell face forward to the street, her scarf ripped from around her head, and her hair coming undone in a messy mane.

               There was silence that lasted an eternity, or so it felt, between hitting the ground and Silvia finally opening her eyes. Hot pain blossomed from her knees, elbows and palms, but it would be nothing when the group of bullies was on her with their tortuous hands. But when it didn’t come, she looked up.

               Someone stood over her, facing away, their hand grabbing the wrist of the man who seized her cardigan, the ripped fabric still clutched in his fist. The others of the group stood around, watching apprehensively. “Tha’s no’ very nice, now is it?” He stood at least half a head taller than the biggest of them and his tone was not too kind.

               “And who are you?” The girl with Silvia’s letter still clutched in her hand spoke first.

               Silvia’s defender pried the fabric out of the man’s hand and pushed him back before saying loudly with disgust, “Someone who’s no’ about to jus’ stand ‘round and watch while a group of ye gang up on a lone girl.”

               In the commotion, more people had gathered around to watch now. The gang knew it wouldn’t be good news for them so they spat at the man’s feet, threw Silvia’s envelope down in a crumpled ball and walked back in the direction they came, shouting slurs and derogatory names at Silvia and the man who came to rescue her. When they were gone, Silvia reached out and took what used to be her letter to Collins in her hands, finding the stinging pain there were dirtied scuffs and scraps that had drawn blood from the fall.

               The people who were still watching made no move to help her or ask her if she was alright; they just stood, and continued looking on. A gentle pair of hands came down on Silvia’s shoulders, making her jump in fright. “It’s alrigh’, yer alrigh’.” It was her defender; he spoke so softly as he helped her to her feet. “Let’s get ye out of here, yeah?”

               They walked a while, Silvia didn’t know where. In her numbed state, she let the man lead the way. He took them to the park, her park, and sat her down on the bench she had often frequented. The man sat next to her and remained quiet, though she could feel his eyes on her. After an age, the adrenaline drained from her and Silvia’s shoulders began to shake as she began to fully take in the events before. Her brain practically skipped over the game of keep-away; it was something she had often experienced in school. But as she replayed the part of trying to run, and being grabbed, that’s when her heart tightened, knowing then that she was really in danger. She could hear their derogatory slurs ringing in her head as they stalked off and that’s when the tears came. It was all too reminiscent of what had happened on the Wrights' boat, all those months ago. Her shoulders shook harder as she began to cry silently. Everything in the past months had finally built up and she broke like a twig under it all.

               The man, who had been watching her all this time, got up and draped his jacket around her shoulders. He said nothing as he put a folded handkerchief on her lap and a hesitant arm around her back. For a moment, he just watched, but when her quiet sobs shook her whole body, he wrapped her up in a tight hug, one to stop her trembles and whispered into her hair, “Shh, Silvia… I’m here now.”


End file.
